"What fine diamonds those are you are wearing, Araktseieff!" He who was thus addressed replied, with audacious humility: "Sire, I wear them by your Majesty's favor." "Remarkable!" exclaimed the Czar. "Those brilliants are the very counterpart of the ones in my Vladimir star." Junker Jevgen began to think that cheek alone would carry him through here. "Sire, some diamonds resemble each other wonderfully." "And yet I am inclined to think that the star you are wearing is mine, and that in my pocket I happen to have a Vladimir order bearing your name on the ribbon." "Mercy, sire!" implored Jevgen, with shaking knees. "Silence! You surely would not implore mercy here before the whole court. Go to your quarters. Keep the order you are wearing; I wear it no more, since it has been worn by you. Away with you!" "A bad adviser led me on, sire." The young nobleman was ready to betray his father. "I do not ask who advised you. Go to-morrow morning to your father. There you will learn what is in store for you." After this scene the Czar abruptly left the concert-room and withdrew to his own apartments, the former icy expression on his face. He did not even return the greetings of the surrounding guests. Araktseieff, who had watched the scene from a distance, followed the Czar. He was not admitted, but commanded to await his Imperial Majesty's pleasure, and the all-powerful favorite awaited it until two in the morning. Then the Czar entered the audience-chamber, carrying a roll of papers in his hand. "What say you, Alexis Maximovitch," said he to his favorite. "Was it not a good idea of mine to institute the _posta sofianskaja_?" "Without doubt, sire. It has given the people opportunity to bring their needs and wishes directly, in written form, before the Czar." "One learns interesting things through it at times. This morning, for example, I received a letter from a gypsy girl containing a Vladimir order set with diamonds. The letter graphically recounted the manner in which the said order had fallen into the girl's hands. Here, read it." Araktseieff was never so near to swooning as when he had come to the end of the letter. It was a cruel, bitter blow to his heart; he was cut to the quick in his paternal love. He had wanted to strike a blow at that woman's heart, and it had rebounded on his own in its most vulnerable place. That this was all Zeneida's doing there was no manner of doubt. Araktseieff was to be disgraced before the Czar. She meant to bring upon him what he had intended for her. But she should find herself mistaken. Refolding the letter, he said, coldly and calmly: "The criminal must suffer." "Will it be punishment enough if he be sent to Uralsk?"